


Let the Fire Burn You Clean

by dirtyprettythings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Avengers, First Kiss, Light Dom/sub, Loneliness, M/M, Steve has a beard, bearded Captain America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyprettythings/pseuds/dirtyprettythings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Bucky found it hard to even look at Steve, no matter how much he really wanted to, Steve’s body finally having caught up to the person he’d always been inside as a skinny kid, before everything. Steve with his kind eyes, searching something in Bucky, searching for the man he’d once known. Bucky could barely handle it, feeling the darkness cling to him even more every time Steve looked at him lovingly. Bucky was sure Steve could see the monster one of these days, and take a step back, turn his back.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>I wanted to write something short with Steve having a beard, since Chris Evans with a beard is driving me insane. This is a terrible mix of domestic Avengers, angst and sexual tension.<br/>If you think any important tags are missing, let me know!<br/>****<br/>EDITED Nov 5. My lovely friend edited typos and cleaned up some things for this fic to make more (any) sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Fire Burn You Clean

The morning sun filtering through the huge windows in the Stark tower is making the Saturday morning look soft and serene. And it is, quiet, unusually so, since the Avengers, well, most of them, are out trying to deal with whatever villain is threatening the Earth this month. Bucky enjoys the unhurried flow and feeling of this peaceful moment , since mornings are usually filled with banter and yawns in equal measure. People trying to grab the next piece of toast popping up from the toaster (really, Stark couldn’t invent a better system?) and everyone making a mess of the place with their own preferred breakfast combinations. 

For Tony it is always just black coffee, which seemed to be the only thing running through his veins at any time of day, while Nat prefers eggs, toast, sausages and tea - the woman ate like a horse. When Bruce and Clint are in town, they always spend ridiculous amounts of time slicing up fruits, adding them to healthy yogurts and juices, making smoothies, while talking about _yoga and meditation_ for fuck’s sakes. Sometimes they do stretches while waiting for their coffees, which look ridiculous. It is highly entertaining.

Bucky, still raw and unsure amongst the Avengers who seemed to him like a bit of a mismatched family, enjoyed staying on the sidelines, watching them. He wouldn’t call himself dark and brooding (Tony’s words), but he sure wasn’t the sunshine kid either. He always took the coffee Steve offered him, every morning, with milk and loads of sugar. Steve knew he liked his coffee sweet and warm, not exactly the kind of drink a brainwashed assassin was expected to drink. Bucky didn’t care. Morning coffee accompanied with a small smile from Steve, the actual sunshine kid, was all he really needed to get started in the morning. Steve usually ate porridge of all things, coffee and fruits - a healthy balanced breakfast for America’s golden boy. It seemed fitting. But that was Steve. The impossible icon of everything good, bringer of justice, painstakingly kind. _And that was just his public image._

Sometimes Bucky found it hard to even look at Steve, no matter how much he wanted to. Steve’s body had finally caught up to the person he’d always been inside as a skinny kid, before everything. Steve with his kind eyes, searching something in Bucky, searching for the man he’d once known. Bucky could barely handle it, feeling the darkness cling to him even more every time Steve looked at him lovingly. Bucky was sure Steve could see the monster in him one of these days, and take a step back, turn away. Except Bucky knew Steve wouldn’t. And that was worse. Steve would never give up, the golden hero that he was, he would stay with Bucky till the bitter end, waiting patiently for him to miraculously be the old Bucky again. Steve would die before giving up. Bucky had proof of that.

These were dark thoughts to start the day with, standing in the sunny kitchen. But kitchens always reminded him of home he didn’t have, family long dead by now and things he didn’t think were relevant to him anymore. Or what he deserved. Tony had suggested he’d take some cooking classes to pass the time while waiting for the rest to return from their weekly escapades - since he was so handy with knives. Bucky had just glared at him, but secretly watched a lot of reality cooking shows on TV when he was alone. Maybe Tony did have a point. He’d never admit it.

These mornings alone, they were different. Bucky pads barefoot to the kitchen, stopping in front of the huge chrome monster Tony called his “coffee maker”. Well, it kind of was, but with all the levers and buttons, it had taken him some time to learn how to get his morning fix. He could hack basically into any facility known to man, pick a lock of any kind, dismantle grenade launchers in record time (blind), but this coffee maker made him sigh with frustration. Carefully sliding out the filter he started going through the cabinets, cursing at the amount of choices - ten different flavours and roasts of coffee beans from around the world were sitting on the shelves. Was anything simple anymore?

He considers talking to Jarvis 2.0, to have company while the coffee is brewing. He decides against it, suddenly feeling out of place and miserable. After all his objections about living in the tower with the others, now, being alone, he feels lost. Shying away from the Avengers, and especially Tony, he hadn’t seen the point of living in the tall tower. But Steve had asked him. And Bucky never said no to Steve. Not really. Sometimes he did, but only to piss him off. He had wondered why Steve lived in the tower, why he hadn’t gotten a place of his own. Bucky learned later from Nat, that Steve _has_ an apartment, but after Hydra and everything, well. Steve has an apartment in Brooklyn, but had said he preferred staying here, while Bucky was getting to his feet, finding his balance. He was staying there for Bucky - plain and simple. 

Bucky was grateful, trying not to give into his feelings of guilt, about uprooting Steve’s life. One more thing he had changed, interrupting Steve’s routine, dragging him from his home. But it was pointless to wallow in these thoughts - once Steve made up his mind about something, there really was no reason to try and change it. And it wasn’t like Bucky actually wanted him to. Having Steve sleep in the room next door made him feel safe. He sometimes wondered if Steve felt the same. Or was he laying in his own bed, listening to Bucky, expecting the Soldier to emerge, a gun under his pillow, ready to fight? Bucky didn’t know, he had never asked and they never talked about it. Not about that. Steve would just give him this look, almost fond, kind, patient. Like he was waiting for something. There was a question in the air between them. Bucky had no idea what it was and it made him restless, digging his fingernails to his palms to stop from fidgeting. Steve was too good, too gentle. Bucky wanted to punch something, seeing the one thing he wanted in front of him and not being good enough to deserve it. 

After pushing basically all the buttons once again, the coffee maker finally decides to co-operate, pouring out hot dark liquid into the cup, the smell of fresh coffee making the air sweet. Silent and leisurely mornings were refreshing, and he should enjoy it while it lasted, even with his dark thoughts. Soon enough the gang would come back and the peace would be disrupted. Again. Not that he minded, but spending a lifetime in solitude and silence, the energy vibrating from the others felt a bit too much sometimes, pushing his sore edges. 

Bucky grabs his iPad (yes, he has one since that was basically the first thing Tony shoved in his hands the first day at the Tower), opens a tab and scrolls through the news feed. He can hear the elevator ding and the doors opening. Tony had been in and out almost every day, keeping Bucky company and fiddling with his arm between Bucky’s training sessions. Steve and Nat had been gone for three weeks on an undercover mission, making Bucky sick with worry and - not admitting it - loneliness. He was supposed to be able to deal with solitude easily - wasn’t that what his programming was basically built for? Handle situations alone, solo mission after solo mission, long stake-outs with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company? Only his thoughts had not been truly his, brain circling around the mission at hand. But now, free from the programming, alone with his thoughts and emerging memories? Loneliness was creeping into his consciousness, his thoughts, when before it wasn’t in Winter’s vocabulary.

To his surprise it isn’t Tony emerging from one of his allnighters at his lab, but Steve. Clad In jeans and dark grey t-shirt, Steve looks tired, hair ruffled at odd angles like he’d been sleeping in a car. Steve looking soft and huggable was nothing new to Bucky, but what draws his attention to sharp focus is the beard. Steve has a full beard. Thick, dark, soft beard. Well, it looks soft. Bucky’s fingertips start to tingle, wanting to test his new theory on the spot. Steve stops in front of him, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry . Apparently Bucky is supposed to say hi, acknowledge Steve in some normal manner, but all he can do is stare. Trying to get his brain back online he shifts his eyes to the ceiling, clearing his throat.

“You’re back”,he manages to say, proud of his voice not wavering. He is doing GREAT.

“Yeah, we are - Nat just went straight to bed”, Steve’s scratching his beard, glancing at Bucky, “I just wanted to come and say hi before hitting the shower and bed, to let you know we’re okay, you know”. 

Steve looks apologetic,“I uh, know you got briefed by Tony but, sorry I couldn’t call. The mission, this thing”, Steve gestures towards his beard and hair, “we were out of range of any decent cell service and .. well, I’m not one to make personal calls on satellite phones”. 

Steve smirks tiredly, still petting the beard.

Bucky wishes Steve would stop doing that. The beard makes Steve look...brutal. The golden hair is darker and a bit longer too, obviously coloured for the undercover mission. Bucky finds himself liking this look, which is odd, since he’s always thought there could never be anything more appealing than golden Steve Rogers, in any size. Steve looks different, darker, stronger but, to Bucky, more approachable. Like Steve but rougher, dragged through hell and consequently more on Bucky’s level. God help him but Bucky loves it. Has he had dreams of Steve pushing him down on the bed, dominating him? Yes. Does the man currently standing in front of him look like he would do that? Bucky wants to turn around and run to his room with a booming YES resonating through his head.

“You look different”, is all Bucky manages to push out, his throat feeling tight. Steve huffs, runs his fingers through his darker hair, shrugging his shoulders.

“Different good or different bad?”, Steve asks, and how is Bucky supposed to answer that?

“Just different”, he mumbles, biting into his bottom lip, “you always look good, no matter what”. 

Bucky wants to escape, and he manages to get up from the stool he’s sitting on.  
Steve is standing very still, and when Bucky lifts his eyes to Steve’s they’re impossibly blue, made brighter by the darker frame of Steve’s face. Steve’s eyes flicker quickly to Bucky’s lips, making him very conscious of the fact that he’s gnawing his bottom lip like his life depended on it. Maybe it does. He needs to occupy his mouth in order not to spill out words that would shatter their newly found fragile friendship.

“I’m going to take a shower”, Steve turns quickly around, shoulders tense, “shave the beard you know, take a nap. I’ll come find you later, we’ll watch a movie or something, all right?”.

Bucky manages to nod, not that Steve can see it anymore, walking towards his room on the lower floor using the stairs at the end of the hallway. Bucky’s mind is screaming at him. If he was braver, he would ask Steve not to shave the beard. 

Why? Steve would ask. Cause I want to feel it on my skin? I want you to drag it down my body? Because you look harder? You look like I can touch you without you flinching, without tainting the golden boy of America?

Yeah, not really things he wants to say out loud. But they’re all true. He stands in the middle of the once again empty kitchen, his mind following Steve to the lower floor. He starts taking steps, automatically, his body following his mind like it’s programmed to do this. It feels familiar, the numb acceptance, following an impulse his brain is giving him. He doesn’t even want to stop. Not really.

Bucky pauses outside Steve’s bathroom door. He can hear the water running and panics. He’s too late and he feels foolish. What the fuck is he doing? In a haze he simply opens the door, and sees Steve leaning across the counter, scissors in hand. 

“Just, stop!”, Bucky almost shouts, taking a step into the bathroom. Steve lowers the scissors slowly, looking at Bucky’s reflection in the mirror, not turning.

“What?”, Steve laughs, turning around to face him, “stop what? Shaving?”

Bucky stares, stuck to the floor, his mind running through the stupid excuses, coming up empty. 

“I”, he starts, voice low, “just yeah, don’t shave, okay?” 

He tries to smirk, not offering any explanation, just half grimacing while awkwardly running his hand through his long hair, tugging a strand behind his ear.

Steve just keeps looking, eyebrows furrowing, with a tentative smile on his lips. 

“Just, don’t shave?”, Steve asks, gesturing with his hands.

“You’re getting weird Barnes. You want me to look like a Yeti? Is that it? Or do you want an advantage in the training room? Something you can grab?”, Steve is chuckling now.

Steve’s laughter eases Bucky’s nerves, just enough to make him feel like a real live boy again. He takes a step in Steve’s direction, standing close enough to touch, but of course he doesn’t. Steve stops chuckling, and looks at him intensely, waiting for him to talk. Bucky’s seen that look before, filled with patience and just waiting. Waiting for Bucky.

“I like it”, Bucky manages to breathe out, digging his fingers into his thighs to stop himself from reaching out, “just keep it for awhile, okay Rogers? Cause I asked?”. 

He feels like he’s almost stopped breathing altogether by now, waiting for Steve’s reaction. Steve’s look turns to something else, calm and open, and he leans back against the sink. It’s only then that Bucky realises Steve is shirtless, jeans’ buttons popped open, revealing the top of his briefs. 

Not really Bucky’s day, is it? His brain has been rebooting so many times during this morning he stopped keeping count. He takes a step back, hand grappling the door frame for support.

“Just, yeah, don’t shave it. I guess I have reasons, I just can’t think of them now”, he rambles on, backing out of the room while Steve watches him calmly. Not moving, not making a sound. Leaning against the sink, stretched out, muscles tight and beautiful. 

Bucky thinks he could just plea temporary insanity and launch himself at that man. He doesn’t, that would be reckless, stupid and not what friends do. Maybe. It takes every inch of his willpower to turn around, ears hot, feeling embarrassed and to escape Steve’s room. He finally stops when he gets to his own room next door, slamming the door shut, sinking to the floor with his back against it. 

“Good going Barnes, you just made a total fool out of yourself”, he thinks bitterly. Steve must think he’s going insane. There’s no valid reason for his behaviour, and he couldn’t even manage to make light of the situation, like Steve had tried to. And Steve knows. Bucky’s sure of it. The look on Steve’s face, the calm acceptance, Bucky can’t handle it. He grabs his jacket, pulls on his shoes and practically runs out of the room, down the hall, to the elevator, out of the building.

The sun is setting when he finally returns to the tower, its lights just powering up to reveal the steel and glass building in all its glory to the city. Bucky’s been walking, sitting in cafes, and on benches watching people go by. The first night he didn’t want to be here, but now he considers it home. Because Steve is there. And he can’t avoid Steve forever. He’s faced enemies larger than him, situations hairier than this. He can do this. 

But even the thought of seeing Steve, seeing the sad understanding, maybe pity, in his eyes. It’s going to break Bucky into pieces so small he’ll never be able to find all of them to build himself back up. The pieces will be in the wind, out of his reach, forever. Bucky knows Steve will love him, as a friend, no matter what. He’s Captain America. But more than that, he’s Steve Rogers, the kindest and most loyal man Bucky knows. He’s gonna have to bite the bullet, ignore the pity, accept the love Steve can give him and move on.

Bucky arrives to a seemingly empty building. There’s a whiff of fried chicken in the air, but no one is in the kitchen. He glances at the clock, 9 PM. Obviously Steve and Nat had dinner and went to bed already, which makes Bucky’s life a bit easier. He goes quietly to the fridge, takes a bottle of water and walks to his room. The warm shower relaxes his aching muscles, water running down his back, trying to burn away the knots. He hadn’t realised how tense he’d been all day, but what did he expect, the ghost of Steve Rogers’ eyes burning at the back of his neck.

Tired to the bone, Bucky drags himself to bed, pulls the covers on top of himself, and burrows to the undeniably perfect mattress, sighing lightly. He’s got to hand it to Tony, the man buys only the best. He’s drifting to sleep, the warm edge of unconsciousness enveloping his mind, when he hears the soft click of the door. 

For a second his instincts kick in, making him wide awake, hand going for the gun under the pillow, body tight the moment he hears the sound. In the darkness he can see a familiar silhouette, not making him any less tense. So, the day ends with a bad note as well, Bucky thinks grimly, bracing himself for the conversation Steve apparently wants to have _right now._

Steve walks closer, pausing at the end of the bed, offering Bucky a soothing wave of a hand, knowing that his friend was about to bolt into action. Bucky’s waiting for the words, an opening, a question. But Steve just looks at him. And he has the beard, still. Bucky opens his mouth but comes up with nothing, so he just stares at Steve who stands perfectly still, once again with that look in his eyes. The question. Finally Bucky understands. He gets it. He’s brave enough to understand it. The question. He nods carefully, barely moving his head. But it’s enough. Steve kneels down and slowly crawls up to Bucky, positioning himself above Bucky’s torso, not touching.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, eyes caressing every inch of his face. Steve leans down, sweeping his lips across Bucky’s - the touch is feather light. Bucky would think he imagined it, if not for the gorgeous man right in front of him. Bucky’s not breathing, frozen, afraid to move, to break the spell. 

“Is this what you want?”, Steve’s breath is warm on his lips, words covering him with electric buzz that runs from his lips to his sides. Bucky swallows, his throat is tight and dry. Carefully, he nods, trying to speak. Steve looks at him, eyes silencing any words that might be able to escape Bucky’s paralyzed lips.

“Why now Bucky?”, Steve wonders, whispering, poised over him like a barely chained animal, muscles tight and quivering, eyes intense, features dark. He looks nothing like the golden boy Bucky knows. Bucky looks, since he can, he’s allowed - apparently - and wonders if he can touch. Slowly, like Steve might pounce, leave, change his mind, Bucky lifts his arm and slowly strokes the dark beard, nails scratching, just inches away from falling. Steve looks so different and yet the same.

“You look”, Bucky’s voice is wavering, “you look different, like I can..You’re perfect, but I’m...”, 

Bucky can’t finish the sentence. The assassin is scared, finally. How can he tell Steve that he’s wanted the man forever. Never thought he was good enough. Not bright enough. Not kind enough. Not even before the war? And now, America’s hero. Not to be spoiled, dragged to Bucky’s level. Because, what is Bucky? Damaged. Fucked up. Tainted. Programmed to destroy. Manipulated. He’s been the attacker and the victim. He has two faces, ten identities and none of them should be anywhere near Steve. Not really. He wants to touch, he wants Steve’s hands everywhere. He needs. But he has nothing else left but his self-control and self-hatred.

“Like you can..what?”, Steve drags him from the dark pit of his thoughts. 

“I’ve waited for so long Bucky. For a sign, for a permission, something. And now, this? Is this real?”

Bucky nods, not quite looking at Steve, trying to breathe himself into stillness.   
Don’t scare him away. I want to run. 

 

Steve is there, like a wall, giving no room to escape, no room to push back, lowering himself, pushing his hips down until there’s nothing between them. No questions, no air, no room for hesitation. Bucky can feel Steve’s want, digging into him, making it impossible to breathe. It’s the sweetest kind of drowning he can think of.

“Oh,” Steve says softly, almost kissing Bucky but retreating slowly, a look of understanding flicking across his face. 

“Where am I Bucky? Where did you put me when I found you? Somewhere you can’t reach?” 

Steve finally kisses him, lips soft, tongue sweeping gently across Bucky’s lower lip. It’s not nearly enough and Bucky can’t help himself from grabbing the back of Steve’s head, dragging him down. Somehow it feels appropriate. He almost feels bad. He pushes the doubt away.

“Bucky, wait”, Steve breathes out softly, the look in his eyes so tender Bucky wants to cry. Or scream. With frustration or pain, he’s not sure. All he knows is he’s in heaven and hell, both at the same time. Maybe it’s up to him. Maybe he needs to decide where he wants to end up.

Steve’s voice is soft but determined, “I’m here. With you. Forever. And I know how your mind works, even now. You’ve had this look in your eyes for so long, and it was gone today. It wasn’t fearful adoration anymore, it was love. And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I read the situation poorly, but I think, seeing me looking like me but not, gives you some breathing room?” 

Steve almost chuckles, the sound dark, “I can definitely work with that you know. But never ever think you’re not good enough for Steve Rogers. I’m not good enough for Bucky Barnes”

Bucky has a hard time meeting Steve’s gaze, but after all the shit he’s been through, maybe he can face one more fear, the greatest one he has: Steve’s love.

“I’m not Bucky”, he says quietly, the words getting stuck to his throat. 

Suddenly Steve is on him. Steve’s tongue is pushing into his mouth, devouring him, hands gripping his wrists, pushing them up above his head and keeping them there, the power of it almost painful. The good kind of painful. The kind you want to punish yourself with. Over and over again. Steve grinds down, hips moving, their underwear only getting in the way of the sweet, torturous friction. Bucky gasps, barely keeping the moans escaping from his mouth that is completely controlled by Steve.

“Whatever you are, whoever you’re becoming, I want you”, Steve almost growls, grip on Bucky’s wrists only getting harder, warmer.

“Someday, you’ll accept that. Until then, I’ll do whatever I can to be everything to you. And when you’re ready, when you realise that you’re already everything to me, maybe I can shave the beard?,” Steve stops, looks at Bucky, grinning.

Bucky is helpless, his veins are screaming, want climbing upwards, trying to claw its way through his chest. He doesn’t quite believe Steve. But he wants to. And if there’s one truth he knows it’s that Steve Rogers never lies. Never. 

Bucky pushes, breathless, lungs fighting to get the words out, “okay. Maybe I can, yeah. I’ll get there, I know”. 

He looks at Steve, who’s fighting hard not to grind down again, eyes half lidded, breath coming in hot waves across Bucky’s face.

“Could we, since I’m still really insecure and all, “ Bucky’s eyes have a devious little glint, something Steve hasn’t seen in decades, maybe only before the war, “I’ve always wanted to know what a proper beard burn would feel like. Make me feel it? Make me feel it the next day?” 

Bucky wants to burn. He wants to be used. He wants to be torn. He needs to be loved. 

He wants to demolish. He wants to corrupt. 

_This is how I die_.

Steve’s eyes go so dark, it’s hard to find light in the man’s face anymore. Bucky likes it. For now. Steve growls, biting Bucky’s neck, grinding down, one hand running down his torso and ripping Bucky’s boxer briefs clean off. The drag of Steve’s beard is on the good side of painful, burning away doubt and fear. Burning away pain, leaving marks, branding, pulling Bucky apart. Steve’s lips put Bucky back together - the push and pull of sharp pain and soothing lips is everything he needs. Bucky can’t help himself anymore, he moans loudly. He chose right. This is heaven.


End file.
